Almost
by JamesEdmundWulfricElvisLionel
Summary: Grimmjow went to Afghanistan, fighting in the war. He has been there for two years, leaving his fiance, Ulquiorra, behind. T for coarse language.


Ulquiorra's complacent smile is placed on his pale, thin lips, moved by the words on one single lined sheet of paper. This paper is incredibly special. Though, its lines were still blue and normally spaced, and it was of no significant texture… nor had it a wonderful smell. It is normally sized and shaped… no unique drawings or doodles. Just one page. Just one little letter that came every week.

_Dearest Ulquiorra, _

The wonderfully plain paper read in a messy, yet artistically beautiful scrawl. At least to Ulquiorra, that scrawl meant the world—no, the universe to him. More visually pleasurable than the Sistine Chapel, more striking than any calligraphy. To him; these letters meant the world. Because right now, his world was in Afghanistan, fighting the war. Just getting these stupid, _wonderful_ letters meant spending two to three minutes with him _almost_ by his side… Almost was never good enough. But he would always have to settle for it, no matter how empty he felt afterwards. The emptiness of being without him was a far greater pain he had ever had to experience. Two years it has been. Two years of 'almost'. Two years of 'almost' happy for two to three minutes a week. But this meant two years of _always_ being alone.

_No matter how many fucking times I say it, I still sound like a dumb, romantic prick. That sure as hell isn't me. Neither is this place. But hell, I come home in two weeks. This isn't like the last time. Or the time before that… or the time before that… __or the time before__ You get it. I'm really going home. And I swear, once I get home, I will never leave your side again. And I'm gonna marry you, Ulquiorra Schiffer. You better be wearing my ring still._

_Love Grimmjow._

Ulquiorra's hands trembled uncontrollably. He just wished with every inch of his being that Grimmjow would walk in through that door and save him from this reoccurring nightmare. But this nightmare continued. Every damn day… he was patiently awaiting his unorthodox prince to march back up their porch, run down that door…

A warm tear splattered across the blue writing. His lip quivered silently as he wiped it off the page urgently; unwillingly smudging the first two words. He rubbed his eyelids with his index finger and thumb. Sighing as he glared at the date. This letter was four weeks old. Not one letter came after this one. Not even a phone call on his birthday three days ago. He was supposed to be home. Grimmjow was supposed to be here, in his arms; cuffs that would never let him roam without Ulquiorra ever again.

But those cuffs remain empty, like Ulquiorra's fragile arms. There was a space to fill that has not been filled. Not even a little bit. Not even at all.

His smile broke as he kissed the page, then the engagement band on his unsteady finger. The man who gave him emotion, the man who gave him feeling and passion… was on the other side of the world. He owed Grimmjow everything for all the happiness he has taught him how to feel.

Why someone perfect like Grimmjow would settle for a mess like Ulquiorra… he had no idea. But no matter how he looked at it, before Ulquiorra had Grimmjow, he was just a sad case of hopeless… and led a meaningless, dreamless life. The moment Ulquiorra met him… Grimmjow became his dream. And it was the first time in Ulquiorra's life that he felt something other than numb. He felt life in him again. And then… he had meaning. He was the negative, and Grimmjow was the positive. He evened him out. He made him normal. He made life tolerable; even more than that. Ulquiorra could feel things he had never felt before. Things he never believed possible. The biggest one was love. And Ulquiorra's world didn't seem so dark anymore. For he had found the radiance in Grimmjow. The way he smiled, laughed, spoke… everything about him was a beautiful miracle. A miracle that happened to Ulquiorra.

The old doorbell rang, just as Ulquiorra stood up. He folded the letter as gently as humanly possible. As he set it down, he saw his name written on the envelope. And no matter how many times he saw it… whether it was upside down, diagonal, horizontal, or vertical… it always sent a warm flood to that cold, dark heart of his. And once again, he felt the miracle of Grimmjow. Even if he was uneasy and alone… affectionate thoughts of him would always melt the ice that covered Ulquiorra's heart.

The dark golden handle of the tall black door squeaked as he opened the front door of their house. One man and one woman stood in his midst, staring at him with unseeing eyes.

"Ulquiorra Schiffer? Fiancé of Grimmjow Jeagerjaques?" The man questioned him, holding out a gloved hand.

As a conditioned response, Ulquiorra shook it lightly, and let go. He shivered at the cold; wind whipping his face as if a punishment for being in a warm house.

"I served with Grimmjow." The man had said matter-of-factly. He then glanced at the woman to his left. His hair under his hat is a light brown. His eyes were also brown, yet much darker and deeper. But to Ulquiorra, they seemed callous and unreadable. "We both did."

The girl is different though. She is very tall, yet thin. Her hair is slightly blonde, yet almost brown. And her eyes were very bright blue.

"We're very sorry to inform you that Grimmjow Jeagerjaques—"

"No," Ulquiorra whispers, but the man continues despite his desperate pleas.

"Has either been killed in action, or missing. His body has not been found."

Ulquiorra's feet dragged backwards. His eyes began to flow with tears so foreign to him. Before, he had tears of longing… but now… now it was much more.

His mind went blank, had he been selfish? _Maybe I asked for too many letters. I'm fine with almost. Almost is fine. WHY WASN'T I FINE WITH ALMOST? _

_Why was I so selfish?_

Just like this… just by these simple words, on the coldest of days. This will tear him apart. Ulquiorra should have known that miracles don't last forever.

Ulquiorra realized slowly that the man that always dried his tears would no longer be there. The man that always made everything alright… everything bearable. The tears on his face were wet. They were cold. And they were very much there.

And they were there to stay.


End file.
